Quadrophenia
by Even Dafter Punk
Summary: London, 1966. Wilson is Prime Minister, The Beatles are more popular than Jesus, the fashion is radical, attitudes are changing fast, yet homosexuality is still illegal. What happens when two young girls meet in the midst of such social upheaval?
1. A Day In The Life

**Disclaimer: I don't own Skins. Or much else to be fair. **

**Author's Note: This is my first ever story, so I decided to use an obsession of mine, the 60's, as the focus. I think this is going to be a slow burner but I'm going to see how things pan out. This chapter and Chapter 2 will be firs person and after that I may switch to third person. I'm not keen on this chapter, it's a bit slow paced, but things will definitely speed up later on.**

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**A Day In The Life**

I was not a happy young lady. I don't mean that I was unhappy at a specific event; I was just generally not a happy person. Not in an angry way though. No, I don't think I had ever been angry, or shouted at someone, or even taken control of a situation. Sometimes I thought I had, but I soon realised that it was in my mind that I had snapped and hit my mother for belittling me, or told my twin that I was a human being, not her fashion accessory. No, I just drifted through life with a blank expression on my face and a heavy heart, knowing that things would never change.

This morning, like every morning, began with the same soul-destroying monotony that I had become accustomed to.

I raised my head from my pillow slowly, and I didn't need to even glance at the clock on the wall to know that it was quarter to seven exactly. That was the time that my mother, the Genghis Khan of all mothers, had drilled into my skull, so that was the precise time that my inner body clock threw a bucket of cold water over my brain, every morning without fail. I slid my legs to the side, stretched my arms and glanced over to my sister, Katie, on the opposite side of the room. She was sleeping soundly, like always. I often found it curious the way she slept, flat on her back with her arms by hersides and completely rigid, as if sleep were some disgusting thing that she just wanted to get over and done with. Personally I craved sleep, it was my favourite pastime. Well one of my favourites, but that's a different story.

Knowing it would be another hour before Katie deemed the realm of the living worthy of her presence, I eased myself into a dressing gown and, making sure I was completely covered, padded across the landing and down the stairs.

Sliding the chain from the front door as softly as possible, I quietly opened it, wincing at every squeak and shudder that escaped. I quickly grabbed the milk and paper from the porch and chanced a glance at the summer sun, already warm in the sky. Big mistake. Blinded, I swung my head back instinctively, and collided with the door frame. Things got worse, however when a crash on the stone floor was followed by a searing pain on my shin. Yep, I'd only gone and thrown the milk bottle at myself in shock. Blood trickled from a gash on my lower leg. "Fantastic." I muttered to myself as I clutched my leg, hissing as it stung.

But the sound of someone approaching from the dining room made my blood run cold. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise as I detected the unmistakable pressure change of someone behind me. Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder, clawing me back into the house. I raised my sight to come face to face with my mother, Jenna Fitch.

For a split second a part of me thought she was going to pity and, well, _mother, _me and my injured limb. But that thought was quickly and quietly strangled in the alleyways of my mind as I looked upon a glare that would have made Jack the Ripper beg for mercy. My common sense kicked in as I realised that she only dragged me inside to prevent the neighbours from seeing me slouched in the doorway.

"_EMILY JANE FITCH!" _I heard_ "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, YOU IDIOT CHILD? WHAT WILL THE NEIGHBOURHOOD THINK?" _Bingo. _"SEEING YOU SITTING THERE, BOLD AS BRASS, _BLEEDING _IN OUR FRONT GARDEN! _IN YOUR NIGHTWEAR! THEY'LL THINK I'VE LOST CONTROL, THAT I'VE RAISED SOME SORT OF _HOODLUM!" _

The tirade continued as a lone tear crept down my cheek in silence. She wasn't even shouting. No, the bloody neighbours might hear that, so instead this whole Nuremburg Rally of a speech was a hissing, spitting affair, like a cat with learning difficulties. That thought nearly made me smile, but I reigned in the urge, not wanting to risk my life to the Iron Lady.

I forced my eyes from the _very_ interesting point on the carpet where they were currently focused and looked up. Apparently my mother had the same thought, she was now raising her face and hands to the sky, unable to bring herself to look at me, seemingly beseeching the gods to take away the disappointing excuse for a daughter at her feet. Suddenly the paint-stripping glare skewered me as she growled, "Clean that up, then clean yourself up! And don't even _think _of bleeding on my carpet." With that she whirled around, a blur of plaid, and disappeared down the hall and through to the kitchen.

I remained on the floor and counted to ten to compose myself, letting out a shaky breath. With yet another sigh I heaved myself up and hobbled to the pantry to grab some cloth, my eyes fixed on the cut on my leg, vigilant for any of my life blood that seemed to want to betray me and anger Jenna further by settling on the floor. Once I had returned to the scene of my crime, I began placing the glass inside one cloth, and used another to mop up the milk.

Once that was cleared away I limped back up the stairs and into the bathroom after stopping in my room, sorry, Katie and Emily's room, to fetch my outfit for the day, one I knew my mother approved of: a plain white blouse, brown tweed skirt and a brown cardigan, topped off with long brown socks. Not one bright colour or large expanse of skin; Jenna would love it. I made sure the bleeding had stopped and that the socks covered the wound.

I headed back to the ground floor, hesitating slightly as I passed the dining room, the sound of rustling papers alerting me to my mother's presence. I helped myself to a biscuit and a glass of water from the kitchen, eating and disposing of the evidence quickly. Not that she minded me eating. She just didn't want to _see _me eating.

I was readying things for my family's breakfast as stealthily as I could, when she re-entered still glaring. _"That's it,"_ I told myself, "_She's no longer my mother and I'll tell her that". _

"Once you have this ready I expect to see you at the shop within the hour, understood? No stopping at the library." she said, emotionless yet patronising.

"Yes Mum." I murmured, all fight leaving me when I remembered that I never fought back. I just wasn't that sort of person.

She turned to leave, but she suddenly spun back round.  
"WHAT are you wearing?" she barked. I froze and looked at her. "Ummmm..." was all I managed to get out before she hissed, "How long is that skirt?" I glanced down at the skirt brushing my knees. "KNEEL" she sneered. I quickly did as I was told. Disgust flashed across her face, "Just as I thought, it barely reaches the floor".

Scissors seemed to grow out of her sleeve as she advanced on me and my breathing all but stopped. The scissors demolished the stitches holding the hem of my skirt, therefore lengthening it by about a quarter of an inch. "No daughter of mine is going to go about dressed like some foreign whore" she announced as if to an audience, before strutting out of the door.

I fingered the edge of my new, longer attire, at a loss to see a discernible difference. It was hard having a tailor as a parent in the Age of Ever-Changing Fashion. I heard the grinding of gears as Jenna manoeuvred the car down the street. I let out a breath and swept my gaze around the kitchen, checking for anything I missed.

Once I was satisfied I put on my flat, buckle-topped shoes and took a step outside the house, savouring the contrast between the warm sun and the chilly air that I breathed. I trudged down the path to the wrought iron gate before grinding to halt, dashing back inside and grabbing my satchel. I then continued my journey, head bowed. I waved and smiled at Alan, the milkman, at the end of the next street before hopping across the road and continuing to the shop, chin back on my chest.

The shop in question was the family business; a formal tailor's bearing the family name. It was dark, foreboding, overpriced, bourgeois and old fashioned, yet still made a fair amount of money by appealing to overpaid, bourgeois and old fashioned people. My work there consisted of cleaning, sucking up to clients, and sucking up to my mother. I was given a small wage, heavily reduced by so-called 'housekeeping contributions' that Jenna awarded herself on my behalf. I don't know why, I did all the housekeeping anyway.

Katie also had a job at the shop, but her _far _more strenuous labour consisted of turning up when she felt like it, giving an opinion on an item or two, then buggering off to God knows where with an advancement on her wages and my mother's approval. Two things I never received.

I often used to theorise as to why Katie got such drastic preferential treatment, until I came to the conclusion that it's due to the fact that I wasn't really a daughter in my mother's eyes. Katie was planned. James (my younger brother) was planned. She could have the perfect family, one son, one daughter, that would go to university and do well, visit her often when she retired, get married, have kids and start the cycle all over again. But I, ungrateful cow that I am, didn't even have the common courtesy to have my own pregnancy, I just hitched a lift on someone else's, popping out and surprising everyone whilst they fawned over six minute-old Katie, like someone bursting out of an oversized cake at the wrong party.

Ironically that happened at our 14th birthday. We got a lady dressed as a French maid and the local rugby club got Uncle Steven dressed as Paddington Bear.

I liked to think that I could break free of the shadow cast by my fellow female family members, and I often set myself deadlines to do so but I never did. The most recent deadline was my 18th birthday. Three weeks beforehand I decided that, on the day, I was going to quit the shop, tell my mum I was moving out and generally assert myself. The day came and I sat there clutching my new pencil and paintbrush set, watching Katie photograph the rest of the family with her brand new camera, laughing and smiling, like a proper family. The only person that said 'happy birthday' to me as an individual was Alan as I passed him on my way to work that day. Now here I am, four months down the line, in exactly the same position in life that I was at when I was 10. I guess I'm just a coward. Not even real person.

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I rounded the corner of the street on which Fitch Bespoke Tailors stood and slowed myself almost to a stop. I took deep breaths and shook out my hands. "Stop it," I breathed to myself, "You know she's worse when you're upset". Finally composed, I continued, wondering why on earth a tailor's would be open so early. Are people really that desperate for cummerbunds?

I took a key from my satchel and entered the shop via the front door. As I passed the counter on my way to the back room I hung the key on a hook beside the till. Passing the large, partitioned-off area where the clothing was actually cut and stitched, I saw my mother, copying someone's measurements from a notepad into a ledger. No greeting or acknowledgment was forthcoming, so I headed into the back room proper, hanging my satchel on a hook and flicking the switches that controlled the lighting throughout the whole shop, bathing everything in a sickly orange light. I sighed (quietly though, I couldn't handle multiple wrath exposures without at least an hour's respite)

I just knew it was going to be a slow day. Hell, a fast day only meant three customers. Thinking ahead, I took the last unread book of the five in my bag and headed to the high stool behind the till, careful not to make the book apparent to my mother. Sitting down, I buried my nose in the History of British Politics 1900-1963.

By the time I raised my head, I had reached 1926 and it was time for lunch. I sidled my way past Jenna's lair and lifted a corned beef sandwich from my satchel. I ate it in the back room, knowing that if I ate at the till, with my luck the first customer of the day would arrive as I took the first bite, putting me in danger of losing a limb to Jenna's razor sharp glare as she spoke to the client. Satisfied, I headed back to the counter, hoping to pick up my book again. No such luck.

The bell jingled, cheerfully letting me know someone had entered. Looking up, I came face to face with four lads in sharp Italian suits and parkas and my happy-customer-greeting-face dropped. Christ, I knew what they were here for and they should leave for their own sake.

The first of the four wandered up to me, his eyes grazing over the various materials on the walls. Taking off his hat he leant on the counter next to it and grinned.

"'Ello love, me and the lads would like the suits taken in a bit, and Kev there would like an extra inner pocket on his jacket" he drawled in South London accent, pointing to who I assume was Kev. Wordlessly, I tried to shoo them out of the door, putting on my best frown and gesturing wildly, all to no avail, confusion obvious on their faces. But then I heard the clunk of heavy scissors being thrown down and my arms snapped to my sides. The four boys seemed to notice the sudden change in my body language and instinctively took a step back, caution replacing the confusion, as if expecting Dracula to waltz out, cape billowing. If only.

Instead Jenna Fitch rounded the corner like a Panzer tank. For a split second the Mods relaxed, and the hatless one even opened his mouth to repeat his request. But then they caught sight of her face, rage in its purest form clouding her features, and they froze in place. She stomped into the main body of the shop, snatching up the hat without looking and paused momentarily in front of them. The calm before the storm.

Jenna Fitch, you see, _hated _change. She hated Mods, she hated Rockers, she hated foreigners, she hated rock and roll, new cars, new clothes, the loss of the empire, youth freedom, television and music on the radio. Basically anything that wasn't the norm in Britain before the war. These lads were Mods, and they were in trouble just for existing, let alone entering _her _shop.

Before they knew what was happening they were being beaten out of the shop with their own hat. She was shouting too, but her Scottish accent was thicker than normal and I (and the boys too in all likelihood) could only make out the words 'scum', 'police' and 'high-class establishment'. Once they had flinched their way out of the shop she threw the hat after them and slammed the door. The whole episode took less than 20 seconds and everything was now eerily quiet, the air almost buzzing.

Jenna straightened herself up and checked her hair in the full length mirror before charging back into the back room, throwing me a dirty look that seemed to suggest that I was to blame.

I stood around, unsure what to do for a minute or two before gingerly sitting back down. Jenna's lack of communication was perfectly normal for her, she often went whole weeks without saying anything to me, yet still managing to make me feel small. It would be impressive if it wasn't so vindictive and nasty.

Not one minute had passed and I had just picked up my book before the bloody overly happy bell chimed again and Mr Palmer stood in front of me, leering.

Mr Palmer was a regular of ours; he owned a successful accounting firm, held celebrated candlelit dinner parties, was a member of the golf club and most importantly, (in my view anyway, I had to measure him) looked like he'd eaten a family car. Every time he bought something we made a tidy profit just on the sheer amount of fabric that was needed to cover his girth. He was also a pervert, insisting that I measure him every time, despite the fact that we both had his details in the ledger and that Jenna preferred to take measurements herself, perfectionist that she is. You should've seen the time that Katie and I were both working when he walked in. If his eyes had lit up any more then he would've been in danger of setting his comb-over alight. Men and the twin thing, makes me feel physically ill. Jenna was unperturbed though, she was eager to serve someone so well connected, even if it meant using her daughters in a less than motherly way.

Nevertheless the happy-customer-greeting-face returned, "Hello Mr Palmer, what can we do for you today?" My voice was sickly sweet. He grinned, making his face stretch and look more and more slimy by the second.

"Emily, Emily, Emily, for the last time call me Andrew. Is your mother free? I'd like to go over some ideas with her." he said, sweat pooling beneath his thinning moustache.

"Of course, one moment" I said, turning on my heel and heading to the work room. As I went, I was sure I could feel his eyes sliding over me, making me shudder.

I poked my head round the door and cleared my throat, "Umm Mum? Mr Palmer is here to see you"

Her head snapped up and she soon followed it's lead, practically jogging to the shop floor. Like I said, she wants to butter him up; at home I was constantly reminded that "He owns a Rolls Royce you know".

"_Flash car or no, he's still disgusting," _I thought, _"I hope he chokes on the goose at his next bloody soiree. Who eats goose anyway?"_ My internal monologue continued with incomprehensible muttering and grumbling as I took my place behind the counter, standing with my hands on my thighs, unconsciously smoothing my skirt again and again whilst Jenna and Mr Palmer, sorry, _Andrew_, greeted each other with blatantly forced enthusiasm.

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The next two hours were a haze of Mr Palmer wheezing and grunting as I measured his chest and sycophantism as Jenna tried to convince him that an ultra tight set of trousers weren't the way to go without just saying _"You're fat!"_

Finally he slithered his way out of the door with the promise of returning in a few weeks to pick up his purchases. Jenna decided to call it a day thirty minutes after he left and I began the process of shutting up shop. I was just about to switch off the light when I noticed a heavy looking wallet on the counter. I moved over to it and checked inside, only to be confronted by a crumpled photo of Mr Palmer in a Hawaiian shirt, chest exposed; standing next to what may have been an elephant. Possibly his wife. Like I said, they eat a lot of goose.

"What have you got there Emily?" I heard from the doorway.

"Mr Palmer left his wallet Mum, should I put it in the back room?" I said.

She looked thoughtful for a while before shaking her head, an unreadable yet distinctly pleased expression on her face, "No Emily, you can take it back to him now. He'll like that, and we aim to do the best for our customers, don't we dear?" She was full-on grinning now and I felt _very _uncomfortable. Go to Mr Palmer's house? Alone? I was not liking her plan. Surely she's seen the way he acts around anything with a uterus?

"Besides, you can replace the milk and paper that you ruined earlier. You must still have some money left from last week's wages." The grin was gone, and a stony mask was in its place.

"_Great," _I thought _"If I manage to survive returning the wallet of a randy walrus I have to spend the last of my wages. I was saving up for...well I was saving up. Just in case"_

"Come on, get a move on!" She was stood in the street now, waiting for me to go out and lock up. I ran back, flicked off the lights and grabbed the key off the hook as I exited the shop. She tapped her foot whilst I locked the top and bottom locks, before heading to the car when I finished. I stood on the pavement as she slid in. She rolled down the window and quickly asked "Do you remember the way to Andrew's?"

I simply nodded, and she pulled away without so much as a goodbye. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, noticing that the summer sun had done little to lighten the dark brown locks. I pivoted and headed down the street, away from my home and deeper into London.

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I was deep in my thoughts, trying not to depress myself even further and failing, so I was surprised to find myself on the steps to the Palmer household a lot sooner than anticipated. I hesitated, before knocking on the door with the heavy brass knocker. It was then that I realised the door had been mocked up to look like the door of Number 10. "_Egotistical much?" _I thought, waiting impatiently on the large stone steps. Suddenly the door flew open and the sweating face of Andrew Palmer came into view. His expression went from surprised to smug in the blink of an eye. "Well, well, well, Emily Fitch, here to see little old me," he wheezed. _"What does he mean, little?" _"How can I help you Emily?"

"Err... well Mr Palmer, umm...my mother sent me here, you left your wallet at the shop and well...I...err...brought it back" I tried a tiny smile at the end, offering his wallet to him and taking a step back. He took the wallet slowly, and he looked at it briefly before looking back at me, all smugness gone. _"Why, what did he think I came here for? Unless...ugh no! He didn't...that's just...ugh! He thought I came over for THAT? He's more deluded than I thought. Ugh. I'm going to have nightmares for weeks." _Fighting back a fit of retching I waited for him to react so that I could leave.

"Oh...uh...thank you Emily. Do you...uh...want to come in? For a bit?" The glint was back in his eyes, and I hastily informed him of my errands before making an equally hasty retreat down the road. I checked back over my shoulder and saw him watching me down the road. I sped up.

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I checked the time on a church that I passed and was pleasantly surprised that it was only a quarter past four. _"Plenty of time" _I thought as I meandered through the streets. The happiness lasted a measly ten minutes though, when I realised that I was lost.

I rounded a corner and found myself in a wide, busy street, filled with shops, cafes and people. But the majority of the people weren't walking around, instead they were grouped round tables or stood in yet more groups, talking, laughing, drinking and eating. It was then that my ears seemed to catch up with my eyes and I was hit by a wall of music all at once, dozens of styles, all coming from a radio or record player that seemed to be on every table, all on full volume. This place was so _alive!_ We didn't have music much at home, Jenna didn't like it so, through logical deduction, the whole family must surely hate it too.I regained control of my limbs and slowly advanced down the street, examining everyone that passed. There were so many colours and fashion styles that my eyes began to blur; there were Mods leaning on their scooters, comparing shoes, Rockers loudly boasting about their bikes and telling jokes, people with long hair and mismatched clothing that seemed off in a dream world, girls dancing and giggling and then there were massive groups that defied classification, taking all the styles around and sitting them at one table to have fun.

I began to smile, the happiness here was infectious, and there was an extra spring in my step. I didn't want to leave this place. Ever.

I was snatched out my wide eyed reverie however, by a hand roughly grabbing my arm and wrenching me around. I gasped involuntarily and looked at whoever it was hurting me. I found myself inches away from the Mod that my mother had kicked out earlier, he and his friends wore matching grins. I was dragged to the side of the street and he was there again, right in my personal space.

"'Ello again, little one. Your mummy made me look right knob earlier in front of me mates. And just look at what she did to me hat!" He spat, gesturing at the tattered lump of cloth in his other hand. "Two fuckin' quid that cost me! It was Italian! I think that I should take some compensation, don't you!"

I couldn't breathe let alone answer, my eyes wouldn't focus and my head was spinning. I couldn't believe that this was going to happen in broad daylight in such a busy, happy place. I had changed my mind; I DID want to leave this place. Now.

"What's in the bag!" he growled from in front of me, but he suddenly sounded very far away. I began to hyperventilate, eyes flicking to nearby tables, begging them to notice. My bag was ripped away from me, my fingers twitching after it half-heartedly.

Tears pricked in my eyes and I choked. Suddenly a warm arm wrapped around my shoulders and a voice started from behind me.

"PETE, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY COUSIN!" The soft arm tightened in a protective manner.

"_Cous-...what?" _I thought. I twisted my neck around and there, protecting me, rescuing me, were the bluest, brightest eyes I'd ever seen.

"_Oh."_


	2. Here Comes The Sun

**Disclaimer: I own literally nothing, let alone a multi-million pound franchise such as Skins.**

**Author's Note: I'm actually quite flattered by the reviews I've received, I can definitely see why so many people on here crave them. I'd just like to say that, where possible, I'll make everything as era-specific as possible. That means to say that major events will still happen in the right years, but music etc. will be from the decade, not necessarily the specific year. Otherwise I'd have to cut out some of the best stuff of the decade. This chapter is from Naomi's point of view and starts in the morning of the first chapter. I'm not too keen on it, but next chapter I start getting into stuff I want to write, which I'm looking forward to.  
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**Naomi's POV**

Here Comes The Sun

I love the sun. I really do. I love it whether it's baking me in my clothes or barely poking through the clouds. I miss it more every day that it's away. Now that's cleared up, the following statement has more gravitas: _AT THIS PRECISE MOMENT IN TIME, I WOULD LIKE NOTHING MORE THAN FOR THE SUN TO GO AND DIE IN A DARK AND LONELY PLACE. _I was looking forward to a nice lie-in this morning, I had no work, it was Saturday after all, but no. The sun, it turns out, had far more nefarious plans. And after I had done nothing but love it. At approximately half past eight it lanced it's way through a tiny chink in my heavy bedroom curtains and managed to find its way over the eiderdown and right into my face. The bastard. That act of treachery was the reason that I was currently sitting at the tiny table in our kitchen, wiping my face after missing my mouth and pressing scalding hot porridge to my cheek for the hundredth time.

"_It's too early. Way too fucking early. I'm not meeting Cook for another three hours, what the hell am I supposed to do till then?" _I thought to myself, also for the hundredth time. I groaned loudly to the empty kitchen and glared at the porridge as if it was withholding the answer to my woes from me. Making a snap decision, I put the porridge back in the oven after covering it with a plate and trudged back upstairs. I went to the bathroom and pushed on the door. It swung open an inch and stopped. I huffed, rolled my eyes and kicked the bottom corner, cursing my home's quirks. I tried my best to freshen up, brushing my teeth and washing my face, but by the time I was done I still felt knackered and half-asleep. I stomped back across the landing, not worried about waking my Mum. That woman could sleep through the apocalypse. Once back in my room I closed the door behind me, eyes flicking around for something to occupy my time. Not that my options were numerous. There were only three real parts to my tiny little room. My bed sat flush to the wall in the corner, underneath and parallel to the sloped part of the ceiling (the cause of many a head injury and heavily postered), opposite the window responsible for my current predicament. Next to the window and preventing the door from opening fully was a large wardrobe that, from the amount of clothing on the floor, was likely to be empty. Right in front of me, bridging the gap from the window wall to my bed was my favourite part of the room: my record player and (if I do say so myself) impressive record collection. Upon seeing that a small smile appeared on my face.

"_As if I could stay pissed off when I have John, Paul, George and Ringo to keep me company" _I thought, practically bouncing over to where I knew _Revolver_ lay, sandwiched between _Rubber Soul_ and _The Kink Kontroversy_. I could barely contain my glee as I set the needle on the vinyl, hearing the warm crackle as it began to spin. Slipping off my dressing gown and standing only in my nightie, I closed my eyes and stepped back into the centre of the room, tapping my foot and humming to the opening bars of _Taxman._ That didn't last long though. Within seconds I was bouncing and waving my arms, singing along with the Fab Four.

"It's one for you, nineteen for me! 'Cause I'm the taxman, yeah, I'm the taxman!" I yelled, thankful for my Mum's comatose sleeping, the sturdy floorboards and the fact that the curtains were closed. I think the sight of a half naked girl flailing around in her room at this time of day would have been a bit much for some. Not that I was too worried, I was in my element, adrift on a guitar.

* * *

I spent the next two hours completely lost in a whirlwind of music, sometimes dancing, sometimes singing, sometimes just sitting on my bed and nodding along. I caught sight of the time mid-spin, and stopped abruptly, deciding that I should probably get ready to go out. I turned the music down to an ambient level and slid over to my wardrobe. Examining it's contents, I fished out a summery looking polka-dot dress with a wide red belt. Picking out some clean underwear from the drawer at the base of the wardrobe and laid the lot out on my bed. Instinctively checking the curtains were still shut (I was a confident person, not an exhibitionist) I dropped my nightie to the floor and donned the ensemble. I spun round a few times, enjoying the light swish of the dress as it brushed my lower thighs.

I knelt down and reached under my bed, pushing aside yet more records and grabbed a hold a shoe box and a mirror. Balancing the mirror against the wall, I sat in front of it on the bed, careful not to knock it over with my movements. After adjusting it to the right angle, I opened the shoe box and eyed my modest make-up collection. I pulled out the mascara, eye-liner and eye-shadow necessary for the smoky, dramatic eye-look that people often complimented me on. I also retrieved some pale lip-stick after a second's deliberating. Apparently it helped emphasise my eyes. Not that I'd know, this was Effy's territory, not mine.

Ten minutes and several self-blinding incidents later I was sufficiently fabulous. I put away the mirror and war paint, stacking the records back up in front of them to hide the evidence. What? I have a reputation to maintain.

I flicked the needle arm off the record, mourning the loss of sound and switched off the player before I paced down to the cupboard under the stairs. Leaning in, I dragged out the ironing board and iron. I set the board up in the kitchen and plugged in the iron. Whilst I waited for it to heat up, I helped myself to a few spoonfuls of the lukewarm porridge from the oven. Seeing that the iron was hot, I put the bowl in the sink and set the tap on it briefly. My Mum would probably wash it up properly later. I turned back to the ironing board and stood in front of it, breathing deeply. Of all the beauty processes, this was the one I hated most. But it also yielded my favourite result. I rested my head on the board, using my left hand to push my hair away from underneath me as I used my right to pick up the iron. I took one last, deep breath and ran the iron in long strokes across my newly fanned out hair. Once that side was done I flipped over and switched the iron to my left hand. I repeated the process. I placed the iron down and took a large serving spoon from the drawer behind me. I examined my reflection in it, spotting an unruly piece of hair at the back of my head, which was quickly subdued with a brush from the iron. Satisfied that I didn't look like a banshee, I put the spoon back and stood the iron on the draining board to cool. I folded the ironing board and attempted to put it back under the stairs, giving up when it collapsed and whacked me in the head. Instead I leant it next the cupboard door, hoping my Mum would take pity on me and my clumsiness and put it away.

I glanced at the clock and blanched when I saw it read a quarter to 12.

"Shit!" I gasped. I ran back upstairs and yanked a pair of sandals from the bottom of my wardrobe and grabbed my bag from the end of my bed. I sprinted back down to the front door, making sure I had my keys and money on the way.

I flung the door open and hopped outside, slamming it shut behind me. I took a moment to run my fingers over my prize possession; a 1963 Austin Mini Cooper S in red, with a large Union Jack on the roof. I saved up for years to get it, a friend of Effy's offering it to me at a cut price and a mate of Cook's adding the Union Jack. I loved my Mini, possibly even more than my records. I sighed longingly before striding off down the road, towards Vincent Street.

* * *

By the time I arrived at the end of the street, I was in an excellent mood. My spat with the sun was over, and I was in love again. I weaved my way through the crowds that were already growing in both size and noise. I made a beeline for Keith's Place, the most unimaginatively named cafe in London, where I knew the others would be. Keith's Place was also our place, unofficially, and we met here every day, unless we had work. It was run by a distant relative of Cook's; Keith, a large, hairy man that constantly reminded (and showed) people that he lost 4 toes at El Alamein. Despite his war hero persona, he, almost openly, supplemented his business by selling drugs to his younger customers. Whether you wanted to dance all night, relax or have a religious experience, Keith would have just the drug. Of course Cook, being a relative, got a discount that came in handy when we headed out West for the night.

Cook and I had been friends since primary school. We bonded over nothing in particular and as we grew up, that bond grew stronger. Even when I passed the Eleven-Plus and he failed it, with me going to Hartley Grammar and he to the local secondary modern, we were still as close as ever. He was like the older brother I always wanted; protecting me from harm, and I was his Jiminy Cricket, reigning him in when he became out of control, which he often did.

I met Effy, Pandora and JJ at Hartley. Eff and I soon became close due to our mutual hatred of the education system. I swear we spent more time in detention or getting the cane than we did in lessons. Of course wherever Effy went, Panda went too. That girl was _too_ happy and lively, the exact opposite of Effy's cool and calm demeanour. But, like I said, they were inseparable, and no one in our group would question it. Least of all JJ. If Eff and I were the troublemakers at school, JJ was the teacher's pet. He passed all of his O-Levels without breaking a sweat, or getting the cane once. He joined our group once Effy helped him assert himself after he was mercilessly bullied for his obsessive ways and nervous tics. Now he was part of the family, and no one would dare to harm him.

At the secondary modern, Cook met Thomas, a totally laid-back guy of Jamaican descent. Cook rescued him from a savage beating at the hands of some local kids, who despised him purely for his colour, demanding that he _"Fuck off back to Timbuktu or wherever the fuck he came from". _If they had taken the time to speak to him, his accent would give away the fact that he had never travelled any further than Brighton and was a London lad through and through. Cook gave the knobends a taste of their own medicine, the teachers didn't care, and introduced Thomas to the rest of us. I never understood how anyone could ever hurt someone as nice as Thomas, but the crooked scar above his left eye still served as a reminder that the world is in fact, a bloody nasty place to be.

Our group was like a family, everyone looking out for everyone else. We were the rejects from other groups, but what we had often made others jealous of our closeness. We didn't all have the same interests, or fashion styles, or musical taste, but that just gave us more to love about each other. Cook, to others, resembled a Rocker, with his Bryl-Creemed hair, leather jacket and motorbike, but we all knew that that was just an image he liked. It intimidated strangers, which appealed to him; he had no interest in hanging round with other Rockers. Thomas and JJ dressed Mod-style, with snappy suits and trilbies, which I have to say, suited them perfectly. Pandora always looked like she'd dressed in the middle of an explosion at a painter and decorators, with no two items of clothing matching. Effy changed styles periodically and often gave gender roles the finger. For the last two months she's been joining Cook in the Rocker spectrum, leather and all, which raised many a wrinkly eyebrow. I didn't really fit into any of these categories. I was just as likely to wear a plaid skirt as a mini-skirt, and I loved the fact that, with my friends, I didn't have to choose.

Shaking my head, I crossed over the street; the traffic was almost non-existent, and continued through the noisy mob. Just then I caught a snatch of Cook's throaty laugh up ahead and smiled. The crowd shifted and I glimpsed Cook spinning JJ round, laughing his head off. I giggled and snuck up behind them, grabbing Cook by the shoulders.

He whirled around. "Blondie!" he roared, unceremoniously dumping JJ on the floor. Cook advanced on me instead, and I could see his intentions.

"No!" I screeched, attempting to dodge away, but he was too quick and soon I found myself in the air, giggling like a school girl, desperately trying to keep my skirt down.

"Gaargh!" Cook grunted, over exaggerating as normal "Jesus Naomi, what the fuck have you been eating?"

I slapped him playfully, "You better put me down then, if you're not man enough to handle the weight."

He caught the glint in my eye, and cottoned on quickly. "Well in that case..." he grunted as he lifted me higher, making me squeal, "I'm not gonna put you down till you apologise"

With that he strode off into Keith's Place, lowering me slightly so that I didn't knock myself out on the door frame. JJ followed behind us, retrieving his fallen hat. Cook headed for a table at the back, near the counter, where I could see Thomas and Effy chatting slowly. They looked towards us as we drew closer.

We reached the table and Cook looked up at me expectantly. I huffed, "Fine. James Cook, I'm sorry for insulting your manhood, may I please get down?" I asked in my finest schoolgirl-in-trouble voice.

He appeared thoughtful for a second, "I dunno..." he said, slowly "I was _very _hurt by what you said"

"Cook, let me down you fucker!" I shouted, all formality thrown out the window. He blinked before setting me down.

"Yes m'lady, right away m'lady" he said, throwing in a mock bow. I slapped him on the chest, _"Knob" _I thought, with a smile on my face.

"Alright, you lot?" I greeted the others "Where's Panda?"

Effy spoke up, "Her mother dragged her away to some WI meeting in Luton, she won't be back till six".

I couldn't resist a smile at that; the thought of Pandora in a room full of sugary treats and old women was too amusing. Effy must've realised what I was thinking and smiled with me, "I know, right? It's a wonder her mother still takes her" she said, before lighting up a cigarette and leaning back.

I helped myself to a chair and looked across to the counter. It appeared as though Keith wasn't working today, instead it was Doug, a lovable yet simple bloke from the Valleys. If I was clumsy, he was a walking disaster area. I watched as he managed to head butt a saucepan that was hanging overhead, and fell back, a quiet "Oh dear" escaping his lips as he disappeared from view. I laughed, shook my head and strode towards him. I leant over the counter, looking at him on the floor.

"You okay down there, Doug?" I asked, barely containing a snort of laughter.

"Oh...hello Miss Campbell...I'm fine. How are you? What can I get for you today?" he said, standing up slowly.

I smiled, "Just two cokes please Doug, don't worry about glasses,"

"Right you are Naomi, coming up," he looked from side to side, forgetting where he kept the Coca-Cola. I rolled my eyes and pointed. "Thanks, Naomi." He chirped, scurrying over the shelf in question. He came back to me with the two glass bottles and placed them on the top, popping the lids for me, "That's one and sixpence please."

I rooted around in my bag, handing over the necessary coins, before picking up the bottles and heading back to the gang, throwing a "Thanks" over my shoulder to Doug, who was struggling with the till. I placed one bottle down in front of Effy, before sitting and taking a gulp from mine.

There was silence for a while, a comfortable one. Suddenly JJ smirked, "So Cook, how's venereal disease treating you?" Everyone laughed, except for Cook who charged towards JJ, mock fury on his face. JJ was already off, dancing between tables, shrieking like a girl. I rolled my eyes, _"Things never change" _I thought, turning to speak to Effy.

* * *

The conversation continued for several hours, only lulling between us briefly. It was then that I realised that I hadn't heard any music in a while, I was getting withdrawal symptoms. "Cooooook..." I whined, puppy dog eyes in place. My eyes flicked to the table and he caught on. He nodded and disappeared into the staff room behind the counter. He reappeared shortly after, lugging a radio along with him, fag still hanging loosely from his lips. He dropped it down on the table, earning a glare from Thomas, who caressed it lovingly. Cook rolled his eyes and gave the socket to Doug to plug in. He did so and the radio crackled into life. Thomas fiddled with the dial and the slow droning voice of the BBC station was replaced with _Sunny Afternoon _by The Kinks. I smiled, turning up the volume and thanking God for pirate radio, I don't think I handle listening the bourgeois crap on the government approved radio. _"Who still listens to Bach anyway?" _I thought, leaning back and letting the melody flow over me. _"This is the life for me...lazing on a Sunny Afternoon."  
_

* * *

A while later, I decided to get some fresh air. The crowds had grown considerably and the noise and heat in Keith's Place were getting to me. I gestured to Effy to join me, but she shook her head, pointing to her new bottle of coke. I shrugged,_ "Suit yourself." _I thought, weaving my way outside. I headed over to a lamppost and leant against it, taking deep breaths. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, savouring the feel of it in my lungs, calming me.

I began to people-watch, a pastime of mine and Effy's, though she was scarily good at it, coming up with entire life stories for strangers that often weren't far from the truth. My mind drifted to the protest I had coming up, as it often did. My mother and I were going with some other CND folks to Parliament, to protest the acquisition of yet more nuclear arms from the US. The thought of it made my blood boil. It was a topic I felt very strongly about, alongside women's rights, racial equality and anti-Atlanticism. I had been a member of CND since I left school, and after that I joined every club or society that I could. I was a regular little guerrilla warrior, desperate to change _something _in this world, but I knew deep down that things wouldn't. No single person can change the world.

I sighed and threw my head back, resting it against the lamppost taking one last drag of my cigarette before crushing it underfoot. I stood up straight, smoothing out my dress and took the first steps towards heading back inside. I was still in people-watching mode however, and one girl in particular caught my attention. I slowed down to watch her. She was spinning round, eyes wide and a dazzling smile on her face. I guessed that she was either high as a kite or new to this whole place. From the conservative way she was dressed, I assumed that it was the latter. She glided right past me, her smile infectious, and my eyes followed her. She reminded me of a dormouse, with her thick yet tame brown hair, small stature and delightfully cute features. I was about to turn away from her and head back inside when I saw an arm reach out and snatch her from my line of sight. Before I knew what I was doing, I headed over to where I last saw her and it was then that I glimpsed Pete and his cronies frogmarching her over the to the wall. I hesitated, Pete was a nasty piece of work, I couldn't take him on, but he was terrified of Cook. Pete had once tried mugging the little old lady that lived next door to Cook and Cook had repaid him in kind by beating him within an inch of his life with his own scooter mirrors. There was no time to go back and fetch him though, so I pushed on, praying that Pete would remember my association with his nemesis. I was just going to have to wing it.

I finally made it over to them just as they ripped away her satchel. I quickly wrapped my arm around her shoulders and drew her close, placing my other arm on her attacker's chest.

"PETE, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY COUSIN!" I roared, bitch-glare focused on him. The little dormouse twisted in my embrace and looked up at me, tears in her chocolate eyes and the most grateful expression I had ever seen on her face.

"_Oh."_


	3. With A Little Help From My Friends

**Author's Note:**** I'm sorry this chapter took a while, this is the 8****th**** version that I've written, I just couldn't get it to sound right. It's a bit cheesy but I couldn't think of any other way to do it, you'll see what I mean. It's also a little shorter, but it seemed better to end it here as I want to do the next bit from Naomi's POV.**

**Emily's POV**

With A Little Help From My Friends

Generally speaking, I'm not a touchy-feely person. Not on a haptephobic level, I just don't like being that close to people. But right then, when the blonde bombshell with the electric eyes practically claimed me as her property in the street, I practically threw myself upon her. I, Emily Fitch, hugged a stranger. If you can call it a hug, that is. It was more of a clinging affair, with me barely supporting my own weight. She grunted slightly as she took over supporting me, but she didn't seem to care too much.

And I didn't care either. I didn't care who she was, what she was, what day of the week it was or whether I was in fact choking her. In fact the only thought in my head was _"Thankyou, thankyou thankyou, you wonderful wonderful person you." _This thought, sadly, stayed in my head. Back in the real world, I simply resumed choking my rescuer and then upped my game by bawling like a baby into her spotty dress.

I felt her head turn to look at me, and she re-positioned herself so that she could squeeze me tight with her left arm. She looked back at my attackers, who were apparently still in a stunned daze from her initial outburst.

Out of the corner of my tear-filled vision I saw her stab her finger into the chest of the one called Pete. He coughed and stepped back, wincing as her verbal attack followed; "What the hell do you think you're playing at? Did your little tangle with Cook last time not beat it into your thick fucking skull that it might actually be time to get on the straight and narrow? Hm?"

Pete opened his mouth to answer, but she silenced him with another jab, just as vicious as the last, "Save it! I don't want to hear it! You _dare _come here and do this to an innocent girl! MY cousin! I suggest you all fuck off! YOU! BAG. NOW!" The boy holding my bag flinched quite visibly and gingerly placed the strap in the blonde's outstretched hand, before practically sprinting back behind Paul.

"Thankyou, now go on, off you all trot. That means FUCK OFF!" she growled. The four didn't need telling twice, quickly scuttling away from the brightly coloured tornado that had stopped them in their tracks.

Once they were out of sight, and the Mod sized dents in the crowd had been filled, she turned to me once again and sighed. I sobbed harder and her other arm joined the other one, wrapping me in a tight embrace. She began stroking my hair and making soft, calming noises, rocking me gently.

It was a while before my breathing began to return to normal, and it was then that she stopped rocking and held me at arm's length, a soft smile on her face. "What's your name sweetheart, hmm?" she asked slowly, eyes flicking across my face.

I took a deep breath and managed to stutter out; "E..E..E..Emi..l..ly F..Fitch". With that I buried my face back in her shoulder with such force that she actually had to take a step back.

"Well Emily, it's a pleasure to rescue you. I'm Naomi. Naomi Campbell" she said, and I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was smiling. "Come on; let's get you a seat and something to drink"

She took my hand and began to gently lead me through the crowd, turning every few steps to check on me with a smile on her face. I took the opportunity to actually look at her as she walked in front of me. Her white-blonde hair didn't quite reach her shoulders and curled inwards lightly to frame her face and, looking down, I could see that her fingernails were bright red, matching the polka-dots on her dress. She looked back again and I could see that her make-up was done so as to draw all attention to her eyes, but I still noticed her smile, which I partially returned. She merely beamed even more, turning back to see where she was going. Her dress was pulled in tight at her middle with a wide, red belt, showing off her figure, as if all the leg on show wasn't enough.

I had spent barely two minutes with Naomi and had only said two words to her, but I already had two conclusions. One: she was everything Jenna hated in a girl. Two: I wanted to spend _more _than two minutes with her; I wanted to say _more _than two words. I wanted to get to know her.

Naomi began to push her way into the entrance of a cafe, and a grotty sign told me that it was imaginatively named Keith's Place. She carved her way to the back, near the counter where a man was apparently trying to remove his apron from the till and was instead flailing all over the place. She headed over to a table with a battered radio and countless Coca-Cola bottles on it, around which sat a girl in leather with wild hair, smoking like a chimney and two boys in suits, one deathly pale with a confused frown on his face, the other West Indian, chugging from a Cola bottle.

We reached the table and Naomi eased me into a seat between the smoking girl and the West Indian drinker, handing me my bag. The two boys looked up and eyed me quizzically, but the girl simply threw me a glance and then resumed staring off into the distance. I instantly looked round for Naomi after she didn't take a seat like I had expected. My panicked eyes found her up by the counter, talking quickly to a boy in a tight white t-shirt with James Dean hair and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Naomi was leaning in close to him and gesturing to me every now and then. He didn't look happy.

I then remembered where I was: in a strange place with strange people, when I should in fact be buying groceries and heading home. I pulled my legs in tight to the chair and wrapped my arms tightly around the satchel on my lap, trying desperately to make myself as small as possible. I closed my eyes and concentrated on not hyperventilating.

A heavy hand landing on my shoulder snapped me back to reality with an unpleasant jolt. I quickly looked up to the hand's owner, and I saw the boy that Naomi was talking to, now dressed in a leather jacket and holding a...wrench? He nodded at me with a frown on his face, "Don't worry love, I'll get 'em." he said, before stalking out of the cafe. It was a moment before I realised what the wrench was for and, despite myself, I suddenly felt _very _sorry for Pete.

My thoughts were interrupted yet again by another pair of hands descending onto my shoulders, these ones considerably smaller, their thumbs rubbing lightly on my shoulder blades. Naomi's voice drifted from behind me, "Guys this is Emily, she's had a bit of a run-in with Pete, so she's going to sit with us for a bit," she pointed at the smoking girl, "Emily this is my friend, Effy Stonem," then the pale boy "this is JJ," and finally the dark-skinned boy, "and this is Thomas". Effy nodded at me, frown still in place, and Thomas and JJ stood, holding out their hands for me to shake with large smiles on their faces, "Pleased to meet you Emily!" they echoed in perfect unison. Taken aback slightly, I shook their hands and whispered a tiny hello.

They sat back down, still grinning and JJ leant in to whisper in Thomas' ear. His smiled widened and he looked me up and down, "That she is JJ, that she is" he said, before swigging his drink again.

Naomi squeezed my shoulders one last time before dragging over a chair and lounging in it next to me. A silence descended, everyone's eyes still focused on me as I stared at the floor.

"So, Emily, tell us about yourself" said Naomi suddenly, a small smile gracing her features as she leant towards me slightly. I blushed and I could hear small spluttering noises coming from my mouth. Should I tell them anything? I just met them, I know nothing about them. Jenna would kill me.

I shook my head, almost imperceptibly, and pulled my bag to my shoulder as if to leave. I had to get home, or my life was forfeit. I stood up slowly and straightened my cardigan, "Thankyou" I croaked, looking at Naomi, and the shocked expression on her face almost made me stay.

I turned to leave, and a cold hand wrapped around my wrist, not tightly, but in a way that instantly stopped me from moving. I turned back, gently trying to free my hand at the same time, but it wouldn't give. I looked up and saw Effy frown at me, still smoking, still looking totally relaxed. "Sit Emily, we won't hurt you. I promise" she said, still not releasing my arm.

I looked at the others and saw that they all wore similar, soft expressions. I gave my hand one last yank and when it came free of Effy's grasp I immediately cradled it with my other hand. "I...I can't...Jenna...and the milk...I can't...I'm sorry" I spluttered and I could feel the familiar burn of my eyes tearing up. A single sob choked past my lips, and I felt utterly pathetic. Jenna was right. Here was my chance to get to know people, to make friends, and I was throwing it back in their faces. More sobs followed and my knees shook.

Naomi practically flew out her chair and pulled me into her for the second time in as many minutes. I just stood there, still cradling my arm and crying, too out of it to do anything else. I felt her begin to back up and she sat me back down, gently breaking the embrace. She knelt in front of me and her eyes bore into mine. "JJ, get Emily a drink. And something to eat" she said, not taking her eyes off me. I heard the scraping of a chair as JJ got up to do as Naomi asked.

"It's okay Em," she whispered "You don't have to tell us anything you don't want us to know. But you're not leaving until I know you're alright." I decided then that I preferred Em to Emily, especially if Naomi was going to keep using it.

JJ returned and placed a bottle of Coca-Cola in front of me, as well as a custard cream. "I'm sorry," he said "It was all Doug had".

Naomi thanked him, and handed me the biscuit. I shook my head, but she just waved it at me again and I caved, taking the biscuit and nibbling the corner. She smiled and put her hands on my knees as she repositioned herself in front of me, trying to get more comfortable. Apparently she didn't plan on moving.

I finished the biscuit and opened my mouth to thank her, but no sound came, so I took a sip of the Cola that Naomi presented to me. I gasped and coughed as it ran down my throat, bubbles tingling and burning. I slammed the glass bottle back onto the table, still choking.

Naomi giggled, "What's the matter Em," she said playfully, "Never had Coke before?" Her giggles stopped abruptly when I shook my head. I don't think I wanted it again either.

"Really?" she asked, voice several octaves higher with disbelief. I shook my head again and managed to find my voice; "No. J..Jenna doesn't like it, so we don't have it in the house" I said, hating the rasping sound of my voice. I tried to look at the floor again but Naomi cupped my face and turned it back towards her own.

"Who's Jenna Em? You mentioned her just now" she asked softly, concern apparent on her face. I shook my head again, "I can't. I really can't" I whispered, trying to hold back the sobs again. Naomi brushed her thumbs over my cheeks in perfectly symmetrical lines, making small 'ssh' noises. "Em, why has she got you so scared, hmm? Has she threatened you or something?" she asked tenderly.

Could I tell her? Why was she so interested anyway? I've only just met her. I couldn't. It's not her business. Naomi must have felt me stiffen as she ducked her head down to fit into my line of sight, "Em?" she breathed, so quietly I could barely hear it, "Emily?". I could see the pure concern on her face, and I wasn't afraid anymore. This was my chance, my chance to have friends, to stand up to Jenna and Katie, to become Emily and _just _Emily.

"She's...she's my mother." I murmured, gaze flicking up to look Naomi in the eye. "And I _hate _her"

* * *

From there everything came out. I told her about how Katie was favoured above me regardless of the circumstances. I told her how I was never allowed out, how I worked for practically nothing, both at the shop and at home. About how I was belittled for everything I did. How I never received any praise for passing my O-Levels. How every aspect of my life was controlled. How I had never had friends. How _alone_ I was. How _scared _I was.

I was aware of Effy, JJ and Thomas all listening; gasping and voicing their disbelief at certain points, but throughout the whole ordeal, I only addressed Naomi, not looking away from her. And Naomi didn't look away from me, her hands didn't leave my cheeks and she stayed silent throughout, simply nodding encouragingly when I faltered.

When I finished my cheeks were wet with tears, but I wasn't crying. I felt drained. Naomi blinked a few times and enveloped me a massive hug, almost dragging me off my seat, "Oh Emily. I'm so sorry. So so sorry" she whispered repeatedly in my ear as I hugged her back gingerly. Suddenly she pulled away, looking me in the eye, "She's wrong Em, and what she did to you was wrong. So very wrong" she growled, looking particularly fierce.

Thomas spoke up, "Well, you've got us now anyway. We're here for you, it's what friends do" he said, a large smile on his face. JJ nodded enthusiastically, and even Effy managed a small smile.

Naomi beamed at me, "See, you can't get rid of us that easily Fitch" she said and the corners of my mouth twitched up, "That's much better, you should smile more Em, and we," she said, gesturing at everyone, "are going to make that happen. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to stand up in a very un-ladylike manner. I've got a numb arse."

I couldn't help but giggle as she rolled around on the floor trying to get up without exposing her underwear to the world. Finally she managed it, grunting and letting out a huff of air to remove her hair from her eyes. She straightened her dress and sat back down with a small sigh, just as a loud howl entered the cafe. Naomi laughed and looked at me, "That's Cook, the bloke that went after Pete for you". I turned in my seat and saw Cook bounding through the crowd, arms raised in triumph as he danced about.

He reached the table and bowed to everyone. He was wearing Pete's hat, and a suit jacket was draped over his shoulders. He began to strike strongman poses and I stifled a giggle as everyone at the table clapped and cheered. "Hey JJ," said Cook, reaching for his back pocket, "Have a shoe". With that he threw a battered loafer into JJ's lap, who proceeded to fall out of his chair, much to the amusement of Thomas.

Naomi was still laughing when Cook sat down in between me and Effy, lounging back and lighting up a cigarette. "Jesus Cook, what did you do? Eat them?" she said through her laughter. Cook guffawed and managed to lean back even further.

"Nah, don't be silly, they're Mods. They'd taste horrible" he said, cigarette wiggling like crazy in the corner of his mouth, "I just went up to them and politely explained that they'd shaken...?" He was looking at me now and it was a moment before I caught on, "Emily. Emily Fitch" I said hurriedly, shuffling my feet nervously. He smiled and nodded an acknowledgment before continuing, "That they'd shaken little Emily up here a bit, and then, all of a sudden, they start throwing their clothes at me. I dunno why. Maybe they've got a thing for me, everyone else does" he said winking at me.

Naomi nodded at Effy and she clipped him round the head, "Cook, stop being a conceited twatend and get a round in" said Naomi in a stern voice, wagging her finger at Cook. He huffed and did as he was told.

Despite his bravado, I liked Cook already, he made me smile, he made everyone smile. He returned with tray loaded with Cola bottles, which he was going to balance on top of the radio but a glare from Thomas stopped him. Instead he put a bottle in front everyone and tossed the tray back onto the counter. Naomi grabbed her bottle and turned the radio on, quickly turning the volume down so it was just a background noise. She had sat back and was about to speak to me when Cook suddenly roared. He jumped up and roared again. He threw himself forward and turned the volume right up on the radio, almost frantically.

I couldn't hear what was said though as it was drowned out by everyone else roaring and shouting as well, apart from Effy that just laughed and winked at me. She leant over towards me, "You're about to watch a tradition of ours Emily, enjoy it" she said, still smirking.

I listened closely to the radio, but only caught half of what the announcer was saying:

"_-ted Love by the lovely Miss Gloria Jones, right here on Radio Rock, pirate radio all day and all of the night. Enjoy folks!" _

With that his voice faded out and was replaced by a rhythmic beat. Suddenly, a woman's powerful voice burst onto the speaker;

_Sometimes I feel I've got to...run away!  
I've got to...get away!  
From the pain you drive into the heart of me!_

I didn't understand, until I looked up and saw why Effy and Naomi were laughing. On top of the counter stood Cook, miming along perfectly and dancing. In front of him were JJ and Thomas, going through a perfect dance routine and miming the backing vocals. When the music paused for a moment between words and a double beat would fill the gap, all three of them would thrust simultaneously. They had obviously practiced this a lot.

_The love we share, seems to...go nowhere!  
And I've lost my light,  
For I toss and turn I can't sleep at night!_

I turned around and saw that the boys had drawn the attention of the crowd, who were now clapping and singing along. Cook was getting more and more into it, facial expressions getting more and more exaggerated.

_Once I ran to you, (I ran!)  
Now I'll run from you, (Now I run!)  
This tainted love you've given,  
I give you all a girl can give you,  
TAKE MY TEARS AND THAT'S NOT NEARLY ALL!_

I couldn't help but laugh, as everyone in the cafe started singing along, Naomi included. She looked over towards me and beamed. I could get used to this, I decided. I hadn't smiled as much in the last year as I have in an hour with Naomi and her friends. _My _friends. They were so comfortable around each other. I wanted that, to be a part of that.

I noticed the song slowly fading out, and the crowd gave one last cheer as the boys bowed and Cook hopped down to the floor. They all came back to the table and took thirsty gulps from their drinks.

Naomi was looking at me again, "What do you think Em? Having fun?" she said.

I smiled and nodded, then sat up straight. "What song was that? I didn't recognise it." I asked and Naomi giggled again. "That was Gloria Jones, Tainted Love. Why? What do you normally listen to?" she said with a slight frown.

I shook my head "I don't really listen to music at all. We don't have any in the house and to be honest, I couldn't tell you the names of any musicians." I said, expecting her to laugh and change the subject. Instead everybody froze, all eyes on me.

"Thomas, fetch the records" said Naomi, without looking away from me.

"Which ones?" he asked.

"All of them," she said with a smirk, still not looking away, "Emily here needs educating."

_Educating?_


	4. Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby?

**Author's Note:**** *gets on knees and clasps hands* Forgive me. Please. I'll do anything. Even that. Uni has been crazy, with ridiculously hot Spanish teachers that also happen to have homicidal tendencies and alcohol. Oh god so much alcohol. In a good way. And essays. Essays that make you want to cry. And tattoos, that actually ****did**** nearly make me cry. But now, probably as a result of the aforementioned alcohol and essays, I've developed some serious insomnia, so I'm writing again, seeing as I've pretty much read all of Wikipedia at 4 in the morning. So, maybe just one more chance? What do you say? For old times' sake?**

**This isn't the longest of chapters, but there are bits in it that I really like. And hopefully you will too. Also you may notice that the title isn't a Beatles song, but rather a Stones' one. It fits better. **

Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing In The Shadow?

There are some things in life that simply can't be described; instead they have to be experienced. Standing atop the Eiffel Tower with a loved one, for example. The loss of breath upon seeing a comet in full. Hot, sweet tea when you're not feeling at your best. The joy of throwing a half-brick at a policeman. Little Richard's voice.

It was that last one that a very shell-shocked looking Emily Fitch was currently experiencing. Pile after pile of records surrounded us, and the battered record player that had replaced the radio was beginning to feel hot due its non-stop use for the last forty-five minutes.

"What do you think Em? Better or worse than The Turtles?" I said, genuinely interested in her answer and only briefly considering the fact that I was going all Special Branch on the poor girl.

"Umm...which ones were they again?" she said, an adorable frown clouding her features. The words had barely left her mouth when Thomas threw his hands up in despair, and looked intently at Emily.

"Elenore, gee, I think you're swell; and you really do me well!" he sang, exasperation giving his voice a slight edge.

Recognition spread across Emily's face as she nodded slowly, "Oh them. They were...uh...they...they were good" she coughed, a different frown now in place and her hands kneading her skirt.

I rolled my eyes, hoping the absence of any real annoyance in the expression was apparent. "And Little Richard?" I reminded her, spinning my hand to emphasise my point.

"Oh, he was...umm...he was good?" she said, as if seeking my approval.

"Emily," I said, a small smile playing on my lips "you've said that about every record so far. This isn't just about you listening to music, this is about what you like and don't like. We're not going to hate you for it, well, unless you say you hate the Beatles. Then we might have an issue. Ok?"

She nodded sheepishly and looked at her shoes. She opened her mouth to say something then quickly closed it, but I waved to catch her attention then nodded encouragingly. She blushed and frowned adorably yet again "Well I liked the one from a little while ago, the one about paint."

Now it was my turn to frown, "Paint? I don't have any songs about paint" I said, casting my mind back hurriedly. Effy smirked and leant up from her almost horizontal position in the chair next to Thomas.

"If I may, I believe Emily dearest is talking about Paint It Black. Coincidentally, my favourite song." she said, her first words since the Musical Inquisition had started, "You charmer, Fitch." With that she focused the Stonem grin on Emily, who in turn, nearly burnt her own eyebrows off through blushing.

"Effy," I warned, "Play nice, leave her be. Well Emily, what did you like about it?"

Emily shook her head, "I don't know," she said "It just...fits."

I smirked at her "That, Emily," I said, reaching for another record, "Is the best answer you could have given."

* * *

After that, things went a little quicker, with us able to flesh out Emily's musical identity, and Emily gaining the tiniest, infinitesimal amount of confidence, even daring to wrinkle her nose at Cook's attempt to convert her to Hank Williams. As it turns out, little Emily Fitch is quite the rocker at heart. Not as in a sociological subculture Rocker sort of way, but rather in a 'THIS IS A GUITAR! IT WILL DESTROY YOUR EARS AND YOU WILL ENJOY IT!' sort of way. Who'd have thought?

I stood up and stretched, leaving our newest addition watching fascinated as Thomas made swans and flowers out of napkins. I wandered over to where Cook and JJ stood, blowing Doug's tiny Welsh mind with JJ's magic tricks by the counter. Seriously, if that man had to live by his wits, he'd starve. Cook pulled me into a one-armed embrace as I neared, and I leaned into him in response. If actions could sum-up relations, this one fit Cook and me perfectly. Closer than any siblings, than any friends, but most definitely not a couple. We just stood that way for a while, observing JJ's quick fingers and Doug's exceptionally slow mind at work.

"She's a cracker, don' you think?" He said suddenly, eyes never leaving the show, "She's got potential"

"Sure," I responded, glancing back over at Emily, "She's quick witted. Intelligent. Well-read-"

"There's more to a person than whether they're handy in a pub quiz Naomi," he interrupted, turning his head to meet my gaze, frown evident, "She's got spirit, you can see it, almost burstin' out of her. She just needs the courage. A kick up the backside." He grinned suddenly and looked at JJ, "We'll 'ave her causin' havoc in no time"

A burst of pride shot through me. This was Cook's big brother side setting in. I too looked at JJ and could tell what Cook was thinking.

"_Cook, why are we doing this? This is dangerous. And the police patrol here at least twice a night. The probability of us getting caught is too high to be viable. And-"_

_Cook's head popped up over the edge of the roof, cheeky grin dominating his features. "Well it's a bit late now JJ, we're up here and this stuff's fucking 'eavy. Take that and get over the other side. And Naomi, stop smirking and make yourself useful, give him a hand." _

_I smirked even more, throwing my cigarette over the edge of the building and giving Cook a mock bow. He simply shook his head and threw one of his legs over onto the roof with a grunt, graceful as ever. It was just like Cook to plan something like this; brash, over-the-top and generally pointless. But, if he thought it would help then we'd do it. He was invariably right about these things, not that I'd dare tell him that. I picked up the sack that Cook had indicated and dragged it over to where JJ was waiting nervously at the opposite end of the roof, the one facing the street. _

_He shifted anxiously from foot to foot and shook his head a tiny amount every few seconds, muttering under his breath. Owl-like eyes locked onto me as I got closer, and I took note of his deathly pale face. _

"_I don't think I can do this Naomi. I know you mean well and all, but this is illegal. God, I feel sick." He said, his knees nearly giving way. _

_I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "It'll be fine; it's no big deal JJ. Like Cook said, we're up here now. Besides" I said, nudging the sacks with my toe, "you don't think he __**paid **__for this lot do you?" _

_JJ's face went from white to green and I had to ease him to the floor as his knees gave out. "But...how is this going to change anything? If I say I don't mind, do you think he'll just let me leave?" He said, looking up at me from the floor. _

_I smiled and shook my head, "I doubt it JJ. He's a spectacularly stubborn person" I said, turning to look at where Cook had finally managed to flop himself onto the roof, with all the grace of a drunken sailor. He rolled around on the floor for a moment before managing to get up, at which point he raised his fists in triumph, looking to us for approval. _

_I laughed and gave him the finger, only to laugh again when an over-the-top pout appeared on his face. "Stop dicking around and get on with it, Cook," I said, pulling JJ to his feet "It's fucking freezing up here"_

_Cook bounded towards us, pulling three screwdrivers from his back pocket as he did. He handed JJ and me one each and reached into one of the two sacks. "Right JJ, it's time for you to get up to some mischief. You're far too straight-laced and that makes me uncomfortable. Got it?" With that, he pulled a tin of paint from the sack, and pushed it into JJ's arms, using his screwdriver to lever open the lid a fraction. "Go ahead JJ, over the edge" said Cook, staring intently at JJ._

_JJ took a step back, looking at the paint tin in his hands and shaking his head. "Cook...I can't...I can't do this. I can't do it at all"_

_There was a minute's pause, with Cook and me staring at JJ, and JJ looking beseechingly at us both, silently pleading for us to leave it. Suddenly Cook sighed and fetched his own paint tin, again levering the lid open a bit. _

"_It's not that hard JJ, watch" he said, stepping forward and throwing the tin off the roof. It turned slowly in the air, still sealed, before crashing to earth with a metallic crunch and the wet slap of paint on tarmac. Cautiously we moved forward and peered over the edge. There, on the school car park, sat a five foot area of white paint, distinct in the blackness. _

_Cook let out a barking laugh then howled, beating his chest. He whirled on JJ, startling the ill-looking boy. "Come on ladies, your turn"_

_I giggled at Cook's sudden schoolboy excitement, before reaching for the sack myself. "Fuck it," I said, looking up at JJ whilst I rummaged through the sack, "We can't let him have all the fun, JJ. Just have a go." I quickly stood up and used the momentum to propel the paint tin into the air and waited for the telltale sound that invariably followed. _

_JJ still looked apprehensive, so Cook sat himself and JJ down on the short wall that encompassed the roof's edge. _

"_Jay, the people here treated you like shit. The pupils, the teachers, everyone. Now you've left and they can't touch you, but you can still give them the finger, you know?" _

_JJ nodded, his jaw tight. Without looking he threw the paint tin over his shoulder and reached into the bag for the next one before the first had even hit the ground. _

_Cook cheered loudly and slapped him on the back, dancing around on the rooftop. The next hour was spent laughing and joking on the rooftop, even though the paint had long since run out._

"We managed to get Jay out of his shell and out into the real world, we can do the same with Little Fitch, right?" beamed Cook. JJ really did come out of his shell after that night on the school rooftop. Minor vandalism does wonders for the soul.

"I hope we can Cook. But she's so...crushed. Downtrodden. I mean what sort of person hasn't even listened to music?" I said, grimacing.

"We'll just have to try extra hard then, won't we Blondie?" He grinned, looking cocky. He slapped me on the shoulder before dragging JJ away from Doug, who looked like he had a migraine, and pulling him into a rough waltz, laughing manically. _Guess that's the end of that conversation then._

I smiled at the sight and was about to turn when I felt a tugging on my dress. I span round only to come face to face with Emily, looking supremely sheepish. _She really is adorable._

"Um...Thomas just told me the time and I really have to be going. It's getting kind of late," She said, looking at her shoes still. "So...umm...bye?"

She turned to leave abruptly, but I caught her elbow. "Emily, I can give you a lift home. I have a car and my house is about five minutes from here on foot. I insist."

"No, no it's fine. I don't want to put you out. I'll just walk."

With that she turned and walked away. I let her go about four yards before I called after her with a smirk.

"Emily," she stopped but didn't turn, "Do you even know whereabouts you are?"

* * *

Two minutes and several quick goodbyes later, and the two of us were marching down the streets in silence. I kept stealing glances at Emily, and I knew she was doing the same. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Twenty questions."

"Wh...what?"

"Let's play twenty questions." I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But...why?"

"Because I want to get to know you, but I'm too fucking impatient to wait until I next see you. Also, silence bothers me."

"Oh...ok"

I flashed my biggest grin, hoping to put her at ease. Instead she looked terrified.

"Favourite colour?"

"Um...blue?"

I laughed, "Relax Emily, I don't bite. Favourite day of the week?"

"Don't I get a turn?"

"I told you, I'm impatient. Which day?"

"Um..Sunday, probably. What'syourfavouritecolour?"

I couldn't help but giggle at her desperate attempt to get a question in.

"Red. Definitely red."

"And **your **day?"

"Easy, Friday. Everyone likes Friday."

"Umm...favourite book?"

I decided to play fair and let her ask her question. "George Orwell's _Nineteen Eighty-Four_. It's about a man in a dystopian society-"

"Who falls in love and has to try to hide his relationship from the Thought Police to avoid the Ministry of Love, the Party's torture and execution arm."

I stood stock still in the street and frowned at her, "You've read it?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

She turned around on the pavement ahead of me and gave me the tiniest smirk, "I prefer Animal Farm." _There,_ there's that spark Cook was talking about, the tiniest glint in her eye. Then it was gone, her face was blank again, and she just stood and waited for me to catch up. I shook myself mentally and sped up to her.

* * *

We rounded the corner onto my street still throwing utterly pointless questions back and forth until I nudged a happy-looking (if I do say so myself) Emily onto my garden path when she was about to pass it. I took out my house keys and left her at the door.

"I'll be two seconds; I just need my car keys, just wait here."

She nodded but said nothing as I dashed inside.

When I returned outside, I found her out on the street, running a finger along the edge of the flag that decorated the roof of my car. I smiled.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" I called, closing the front door. I whirled around to see Emily three feet in the air in fright. Before she'd even landed and put her hand on her heart I had doubled over with laughter, dropping the car keys. She stood there, leaning slightly on the car door handle, breathing deeply, until I had gathered myself and managed to limit the guffawing to the odd giggle. I picked up the keys and walked towards the car, past Emily to the driver's side door.

"Did I make you jump, Emily?" I said slyly as I slipped into the car. I leant over and undid the door for Emily, and when she bent down to get in to the tiny car, I could see that she was blushing so heavily that her ears were bright red. Not a word was spoken as Emily settled in and buckled up, but I kept smiling and she kept blushing.

"Ready?" I asked once she'd stopped wriggling about in the seat. Emily merely nodded in return without even looking at me. With that I pulled away and headed in the general direction of Emily's house.

I use many words to describe my driving. Unique. Special. Efficient. Others use words such as terrifying. Dangerous. Pant-ruining. But they just don't understand. What's the point in having an engine that can reach ninety miles per hour if you're only ever going to drive at thirty? Most people cling on for dear life as I drive them around, and they usually constantly complain. But Emily didn't even seem to notice. She barely blinked as I rounded a corner at thirty. I wasn't sure whether I should be impressed or disappointed.

After a few minutes driving, I noticed Emily looking at me quizzically.

"What?" I asked self-consciously, bringing my hand up to check my face without realising.

She shook her head, "No, it's just that...well...you look like a giant in this tiny car." She said, with a grave expression.

My mouth dropped open before I could recover, "Well Ms. Fitch, you look normal sized for once, in this tiny car."

The blush that she'd only just recovered from returned full force, covering her ears and forcing her to hide her face behind her hair.

* * *

We were rounding the corner to Emily's street when she told me to stop the car.

I hit the brakes and looked around at the grandiose houses, "Which one's yours Emily? Left or right side?"

She ducked her head and shook it, "My house is further down, but you can drop me here. Thank you." She said, unclipping her seatbelt.

"Hang on Emily," I said, confused "Why won't you let me drop you off down there? I need to go that way anyway to get out, it's not like I'm turning around."

She just shook her head and undid the door, "I can't let them see you...I'll get in trouble and so will you."

I was unsure of what to say, a rare occurrence indeed, and simply let her get out of the car. I stopped her when she was about to shut the door however.

"Emily, you can come out with us anytime you like, you know that right? You know where my house is and if I'm not in, there's always a few of us at the cafe. Ok? We really like you Em, we want to hang round with you more often."

Emily just broke away from my sincere gaze and nodded slightly, "Bye Naomi"

"Bye Em, I'll see you soon." I said, hoping that it was a statement and not a question.

With that she walked away, quietly shutting the car door. I watched her walk down the street for a minute or two, then pulled out into the road and headed in the same direction. As I passed the gate Emily was just opening, I could see the dark silhouette of a woman with her hands on her hips in the window of the otherwise dark house.


End file.
